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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29174934">Sunflower</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG/pseuds/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG'>TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Game of Thrones (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Feels, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Canon Bisexual Character, Creampie, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Dirty Talk, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Exhibitionism, F/M, Flirting, Gentle Sex, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Communicating, Jaskier has no chill, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jealousy, Lust at First Sight, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oberyn Martell Flirts, Oberyn Martell Lives, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Pining, Relationship coaches Oberyn &amp; Ellaria, Ruthlessly Cherry-Picked Canon, Slut Shaming, Summer Fling, Supportive Ellaria Sand, Threesome - F/M/M, Timeline What Timeline, Toussaint (The Witcher), Unrequited Love, Use Your Words, Vaginal Fingering, sunshine ship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 00:22:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,197</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29174934</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG/pseuds/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Summer in Toussaint and a Dornish diplomatic party. What could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion &amp; Ellaria Sand, Jaskier | Dandelion/Oberyn Martell, Jaskier | Dandelion/Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand, Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>109</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>114</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Ok, look. I'm still not over Oberyn, never will be. So when I came across the Sunshine Ship on Twitter, this happening was a foregone conclusion. I would like to thank everyone in that ship for encouraging the madness, and especially <a href="https://twitter.com/yellow_doodz?s=09">Mel/yellow_doodz</a> for supplying us with her gorgeous art. I especially blame <a href="https://twitter.com/yellow_doodz/status/1348709695675002882?s=19">this amazing piece</a> for putting the idea in my head.</p><p>I'm picking only the pieces of canon I like, meaning Oberyn *obviously* killed the Mountain. The Night King was defeated and <em>someone</em> sits the Iron Throne. I really don't give a shit who. All I know about Toussaint and Anna Henrietta is what I picked up from reading her Wiki entry for five minutes. I just need an excuse to get these two to bang.</p><p>Onwards!</p><p>Updates every other Saturday</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's summer, and they're on their way to Toussaint. Jaskier has been invited to play at the court in Beauclair, at the express wish of her enlightened ladyship Anna Henrietta of Toussaint, and he may be just a humble bard but not so humble that he hasn't spent the last month or so bragging about this to every other bard he's come across.</p><p>Oh, Valdo Marx will simply <em> combust </em> with envy when he hears about this!</p><p>"What's the occasion," Geralt asks as they make their way down one of the far too picturesque country lanes that lead towards the capital.</p><p>Jaskier has his lute before him, testing out tunes for a new song he's been writing. He hums pensively. "Foreign dignitaries, as far as I know. A prince, I think."</p><p>The Witcher cocks an eyebrow. "Anarietta really has a soft spot for you," he says with a smirk, and Jaskier rolls his eyes.</p><p>"Yes, yes, laugh at the follies of my youth. What we had was magnificent, magical, a time I treasure dearly, but that's it." He waves a dismissive hand. "We have both moved on."</p><p>"And the fact that her husband is dead has nothing to do with your willingness to return, I suppose."</p><p>"Oh, shut it."</p><p>Truth be told, the duchess will always have a special place in his heart, but these days he is less tempted by chestnut curls and ample breasts, he has found. No, his knees go weak at something entirely different now, and he lets his gaze pass over the Witcher by his side.</p><p>Jaskier has always been a fool. He falls in love too quickly, too easily, and far too often with people he knows will leave him, or not return his feelings.</p><p>Case in point, one white haired Witcher.</p><p>Jaskier had fallen hard and fast for Geralt that day in Posada, despite the fist to the gut and the harsh words. It began as an infatuation and blossomed into deeply rooted feelings that Jaskier finds harder and harder to deny. The fact that Geralt has never shown even a hint of acknowledging those feelings, let alone returning them, hasn't influenced their strength at all.</p><p>Fools in love. Are there any creatures more pathetic? He doubts it.</p><p>"In any case," he continues, "I will be debuting no less than three new songs, and even without all of that, Toussaint always means a good time. The weather alone!"</p><p>Geralt hums in agreement. He's a northerner through and through, Jaskier knows, but even the Witcher can't help but appreciate the warmer climate of the south. "At least try not to get into trouble this time? No games of hide the sausage with these foreign dignitaries."</p><p>Jaskier grins and plays a quick tune as he walks. "No promises, my dear! No promises."</p>
<hr/><p>Beauclair is, as always, a feast of pleasures. Anna Henrietta has arranged truly lavish rooms for them, and Jaskier can practically see all complaints evaporate from Geralt's head the moment he lays eyes on the bathroom that connects their sleeping chambers.</p><p>"Just don't turn yourself into a prune," the bard teases, and Geralt rolls his eyes good-naturedly.</p><p>The prince - for it is a prince, Anarietta reminds him as she hands him a list of the guests' names - and his entourage are due to arrive the next day, to be welcomed with a truly spectacular feast.</p><p>"These are some very odd names," he muses as they sit in Geralt's room that first evening, food and wine spread around them. "Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell, also known as the Red Viper. That's a mouthful." He traces the name with a finger. "You have to admit that nickname would make for a good song though."</p><p>Geralt makes an odd sort of noise at that, but when Jaskier looks over at him, he has his back to the bard and is plucking at some grapes. <em> Huh</em>.</p><p>"It says here he's bringing his paramour! How odd! Certainly can't see any of our local royalty being that bold."</p><p>"Where did you say they are from?"</p><p>Jaskier flicks back a page. "Uh, Westeros? Never heard of it, to be honest."</p><p>"Island to the east, I think." Now Geralt turns, gives him a speculative look. "Wasn't aware there were ships going there. Or coming here."</p><p>"Looks to be a new development." He reads a bit more, his eyebrows rising. "Seems like there was some magical nonsense going on in their part of the world, in addition to the <em> regular </em> kind of nonsense. You know, regicide and the like. Same old, same old."</p><p>"Hm."</p><p>"Yes, quite." He flops back on the chaise he's sitting on, dropping the pages onto the floor. "Ugh, I always forget how hot Toussaint gets in the summer." He plucks at his chemise, which is sticky with sweat already, pulling it away from his skin. "I honestly don't understand how the women here deal with it, what with all their layers."</p><p>When he turns his head to look at Geralt, the Witcher is already watching him. His eyes are very dark.</p><p><em> Low light</em>, Jaskier thinks. <em> That's all it is</em>.</p><p>"Anyway," he says, "I think I'll have a bit of a wipe-down and then try to sleep. I am quite thoroughly knackered. Even though I don't know how I shall be able to sleep when it's so stupidly hot."</p><p>He heaves himself to his feet and gives his friend a bit of a half bow before he heads for the bathroom. He trips over his feet when, behind him, Geralt says, very quietly, "Could sleep naked."</p><p>Jaskier pretends not to have heard. If he acknowledges what Geralt said, and the tone of voice he said it in, he will do something very, very stupid.</p><p>He does, however, sleep naked that night.</p>
<hr/><p>The next day passes in a surprisingly languid fashion. The court is of course a flurry of activity, but Jaskier and Geralt don't have a lot to do. Jaskier meets with the other hired musicians to discuss the set and hand out his notes, but when that is done, he goes back to his room. Practice never hurt anyone.</p><p>It's so warm, and Jaskier is <em> dying</em>. He has already shed his doublet and his trousers, pattering around his room on bare feet as he practices, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Geralt is off doing gods know what, and he doesn't have the brain space to worry about the Witcher. He's too busy worrying about himself.</p><p>It's been… a while since he has played at an event such as this, before such an illustrious audience, and he would rather sit through one of Valdo's concerts than admit it, but he's… nervous.</p><p>He has spent so much time on the road with Geralt lately, playing at truly questionable locations and before rather uncouth audiences, that he's kind of forgotten how to deal with nobles, let alone royalty. Anarietta doesn't count. Things ended amiably between them (or at least had become so once her thrice damned husband had keeled over) and they don't exactly stand on ceremony.</p><p>These foreigners? Different kettle of fish entirely.</p><p><em> Speak of the devil, </em> Jaskier thinks, putting down his lute as the thundering of hooves rings out below his balcony. He shields his eyes against the midday sun as he steps outside, and for a long moment he can't see anything beyond the dust kicked up by the horses. Then the dust settles, and Jaskier's breath catches in his throat.</p><p>The people dismounting below him are, each and every one of them, <em> gorgeous</em>. Tall and tanned, with thick black hair that looks like silk even beneath the dust. Their clothes are bright, mostly in jewel tones of yellow and orange, and above their heads flies an equally bright orange banner. In its centre sits a vivid red sun, pierced by a golden spear. It's all very impressive, he has to admit.</p><p>At the head of the procession is who must be the prince. It can't be anyone else, Jaskier thinks, when he spots Anarietta coming down the steps to greet him. The man seems to be of a height with himself, he muses as he sees him standing next to the duchess. Short black hair, an impeccably coiffed beard and moustache, broad shoulders…</p><p><em> Oh dear</em>, Jaskier thinks as he watches the man smile at Anarietta, <em> I think I'm in trouble</em>.</p><p>Below, introductions are made. The woman who slides her arm into the crook of the prince's elbow must be his paramour. Ella- something. She's slightly taller than the prince, with sharp elegant features, and for a wild second Jaskier pictures himself caught between these two violently beautiful people, and his heart trips over itself.</p><p>Anarietta motions at the palace as she turns to lead her guests inside, and both the prince and his paramour let their eyes wander over the garden, the building.</p><p>The prince sees him.</p><p>Their eyes meet, for the fraction of a second, and Jaskier shivers, from head to toe, when the man's lips quirk up into a smile. Then he <em> winks at him </em>, and Jaskier is suddenly very aware of his state of undress.</p><p>He stumbles backwards into his room and flops down onto the bed, arms spread wide and his heart racing. Then he giggles. "<em>Fuck</em>."</p><p>Oh, he is in <em> so much </em> trouble.</p>
<hr/><p>If Jaskier said that he's not nervous, he would be lying. He knows Geralt senses it; the Witcher has been giving him odd looks all evening.</p><p>"Any cuckolded husbands I should be aware of," he asks idly as he trails behind Jaskier as they enter the hall where the banquet is being held.</p><p>"No more than usual." Geralt snorts, and Jaskier can't quite contain his fond smile. "I wanted-" He turns, fidgets with his lute strap. "I haven't thanked you, for accompanying me. I know you hate these things." </p><p>Neither of them mentions Cintra.</p><p>"I'll make it up to you," he adds, then winks at the Witcher. "I won't play Toss A Coin for <em> at least </em> a month."</p><p>Geralt snorts again, but now it sounds, somehow, tender. "I'll hold you to that."</p><p>Jaskier grins. "Go on, then, find yourself a nice bottle of red. Save me some dinner?" Geralt nods, pats him on the arm only slightly awkwardly, and then disappears to find his seat. Jaskier… breathes.</p><p>Odd world where getting hot under the collar at dark hair and dark eyes belonging to foreign royalty seems like the safer option compared to telling the man he loves how he feels.</p><p>Jaskier greets the rest of the musicians hired for tonight, a set-up that also reminds him rather strongly of Cintra. He pushes it down; destiny has no place here tonight.</p><p>All too soon the room is nearly full, all sorts of nobility swanning about and Jaskier and the others start playing some quiet, unobtrusive tunes to set the tone for now. It's easy to fall back into this. This, he knows how to do.</p><p>He lets his eyes wander, finding Geralt in a corner, sitting silently beside an older gentleman, listening. He can tell the Witcher <em> is </em> actually listening; he's become quite good at reading the man's many different versions of silence. This is his 'I'm listening but also keeping an eye on the room' face, and Jaskier smiles at him across the hall. Geralt's lips twitch for a second.</p><p>Soon, the double doors leading into the hall swing wide, and in walks Anarietta, her hand cradled in the crook of the prince's elbow. A hush falls over the hall, people trying to crane their necks as inconspicuously as possible, trying to get a good look at the guests.</p><p>The prince has exchanged his dusty travel clothes for more yellow and orange silk. The loose tunic he wears under his outer robes hangs open past his sternum, and Jaskier stares. There is so much confidence to the man's walk, a swagger almost even with Anarietta on his arm, and Jaskier bites the inside of his cheek.</p><p>Behind the duchess and the prince follows the man's paramour. Ellaria Sand, he looked at the notes again. Tall and devastatingly beautiful, and scandalously barely dressed. Her gown is loose and flows around her like water, the front dipping down between her breasts almost to her navel. There is a shifting as she comes into view, and Jaskier knows most of the men are adjusting themselves, and most of the women are annoyed.</p><p>"Interesting fashion choices," the tambourine player murmurs behind him, and Jaskier can't contain his smile.</p><p>The prince leads Anarietta up the dais, and she smiles at him before she turns to the guests. "It is my great pleasure and honour to introduce his royal highness, Oberyn Martell, prince of Dorne. I welcome you, and your people, and look forward to a hopefully positive and flourishing relationship between our two nations."</p><p>Oberyn's smile is too charming by half. It's almost indecent, but then Jaskier thinks the people of Dorne have a very different sense of what is and isn't decent. The prince clasps Anarietta's hand and bows over it, pressing a kiss to the back of it. "Dorne thanks you for your kind welcome, your grace." Oh no, the man has an <em> accent </em>, and Jaskier swallows thickly. "It has been nothing but a pleasure so far, and we are eager to get to know your people and beautiful country better."</p><p>There is a smattering of polite applause, and after all the nobles and royals are seated - Ellaria to Oberyn's right, up there at the high table, and won't <em> that </em> send the tongues to wagging - Anarietta waves him over.</p><p>Jaskier's heart is in his throat as he steps in front of the dais, bowing low. When he straightens again, he is extremely aware of the eyes of the Dornish on him, and he feels exposed despite his doublet being buttoned up all the way to the top even in this heat.</p><p>"I hear you have new compositions for us, Jaskier," Anarietta says softly, and Jaskier gives another half bow.</p><p>"I do, your grace, if it pleases you."</p><p>"It would please <em> me,</em>" Oberyn says silkily, and Jaskier's eyes snap to the man. He's smirking, the thumb of one hand idly stroking along the line of his jaw as he watches Jaskier. His eyes are dark, a warm brown, and Jaskier swallows heavily. "The duchess has told us you're a renowned performer on this continent. I am certainly looking forward to hearing you sing for me."</p><p>Oh. <em> Oh dear. </em></p><p>That… can't have been an innuendo, can it? No one would be this bold.</p><p>But then his gaze flickers over to Ellaria Sand, and the woman wears the same smirk as her lover, and heat rushes to Jaskier's face. He hides it behind another bow, this one far too low, really.</p><p>"It is an honour, your highness," he says, then straightens and turns to the other musicians.</p><p>Jaskier can feel eyes on him the entire time he plays and sings. It's normal, he tells himself, and he's used to it, but the prince's gaze on him makes him feel rather more on display than usual. When he meets Geralt's eyes across the room, the Witcher cocks a questioning brow at him. He must know how affected Jaskier is, how fast his heart is beating, how flushed he is.</p><p>Jaskier just smiles at him and keeps going, and now there are two pairs of eyes watching his every move and Jaskier feels really rather faint.</p><p>He leaves the others to play by themselves at some point, bowing with a flourish towards the dais. Prince Oberyn inclines his head with a smile that has Jaskier's ears growing warm, and he turns away and makes his way over to where Geralt has arranged a plate for him.</p><p>"You look like you're about to faint," the Witcher says in greeting, and Jaskier drops into the free chair to his left.</p><p>"Do I? How curious." He snags a goblet of really rather fantastic wine and drains half of it in one go.</p><p>They barely talk. Jaskier is too focused on stuffing himself so he doesn't have to think about the brown eyes that still stray over to him from time to time, or the sharp smile sent his way whenever he breaks and looks up at the dais.</p><p>Finally Geralt leans in and asks, "<em>Are </em> you going to faint? Your heart is racing."</p><p>Jaskier waves him off. "I'm fine. Just… adrenaline. I haven't played at court in forever. Performance anxiety."</p><p>"Hm." The Witcher takes a sip of his own wine. "Didn't think you knew that even existed."</p><p>"Well, I do. Especially in front of such an illustrious audience." Geralt snorts, and Jaskier elbows him gently. "Don't laugh at me."</p><p>Geralt stays quiet after that, but Jaskier can see the soft smile he's wearing, and now the racing of his heart is more familiar.</p><p>He is indeed a fool, the king of fools.</p><p>When he's done, he pats Geralt's arm as he gets to his feet. "Enjoy yourself at least a bit, please?"</p><p>Geralt's hand covers his where it rests on the Witcher's forearm, and Jaskier's heart skips. "I am enjoying myself," he says quietly, and Jaskier makes himself pull his hand away. His smile must be a brittle, painful thing as he picks up his lute and all but flees the table.</p>
<hr/><p>It is near midnight when Anarietta rises from the table, signaling the end of the night's festivities, and Jaskier is secretly grateful. Caught between the vigilant gaze of his Witcher and the frankly spectacular eyefucking the prince has bestowed upon him all evening, he is exhausted and longs for his bed in a way he hasn't experienced in a while.</p><p>People begin filtering out soon after the duchess leaves, and Jaskier and his accompanying musicians wind down, playing one more slow, familiar tune before they pack up. He can't see Geralt among the press of people leaving, but he shrugs it off; they'll see each other upstairs, probably.</p><p>Jaskier knows the palace well enough from his affair with Anarietta and he slips into a quiet corridor, breathing deeply as he leaves the hall behind. Out here, the air is so much cooler and he's blessedly alone, and he tugs open his doublet, shivering slightly.</p><p>"Fucking finally," he hisses as he shoulders his lute and starts down the corridor.</p><p>He doesn't get far. The door he just came through opens again, and when he looks over his shoulder he expects a servant, or maybe Geralt.</p><p>It's the prince, and Jaskier's heart jumps into his throat.</p><p>He falls into a low bow reflexively. "Your highness," and gods, what the fuck is wrong with his voice? Tired, that's it, that why it trembles.</p><p>The prince walks closer, his robes rustling softly. "The duchess was correct," he says conversationally, "in, pardon the wordplay, singing your praises. Your voice is exquisite."</p><p>Jaskier straightens again, a flush rising in his cheeks. His assessment was true, they are nearly of a height; the prince has maybe an inch on him.  "Thank you, your highness."</p><p>Oberyn's eyes wander over him, he notices, taking in the open doublet, the plunging neckline of his chemise, and then the man takes another step closer. "What was your name again, little bard," Oberyn says in a low voice, and Jaskier's knees wobble.</p><p>"J-jaskier, your highness," he stammers, and the prince smiles. The corners of his eyes crinkle with it, and Jaskier is <em> weak</em>.</p><p>"Please, Oberyn will do."</p><p>"Oh no, I couldn't, I'm just a humble bard, my prince, I-"</p><p>The man hooks a finger under his chin and tips his head up. "Jaskier," he murmurs, and the bard's insides turn into jelly, "does it mean something?"</p><p>"Uh, actually-"</p><p>"It means buttercup," another, very familiar, voice cuts in, and where normally Jaskier would welcome the voice gladly, now it's rather like a bucket of cold water has been tipped over his head. Geralt stands at the end of the corridor, arms crossed in front of his chest and a scowl firmly in place.</p><p>If prince Oberyn finds the display intimidating, he doesn't show it. "Buttercup! How delightful," he says silkily, and then he <em> turns his back on Geralt</em>. "Tenacious little flower." He hums, and then his smile widens ever so slightly. "I must say you remind me of a different one."</p><p>"W-which one, your highness?"</p><p>The prince's teeth are very white, and his eyes very dark as he leans in, his breath whispering over Jaskier's cheek. "A sunflower," he says softly, and then he squeezes Jaskier's chin gently between thumb and forefinger before he steps away. "It would please me and my paramour greatly if you would honour us with a private concert," he says, and Jaskier bites the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood. "Only if you're interested of course," the prince adds in a tone so serious that Jaskier can see the out the man offers him.</p><p>"The honour would be mine, your highness," he says softly, and he can more feel than see Geralt stiffen, caught as he is in brown eyes. Oberyn gives him another smile, one Jaskier can only call sultry, and then the prince nods at Geralt and disappears down the corridor. The breath rushes out of Jaskier.</p><p>"What the fuck, Jaskier?" Geralt looks livid, or as much as he ever does. "I thought we'd agreed: no fucking foreign diplomats!"</p><p>Jaskier huffs and fiddles with his doublet. "No one's fucking, Geralt. We… talked. He complimented my singing! That's a thing that people do, you know?" </p><p>Geralt's scowl deepens.</p><p>"And besides, it's not like there's a jealous spouse waiting for me! That woman looked ready to devour me herself!" He chuckles. "So don't worry, it'll all be f-"</p><p>Geralt's hand winds around his wrist, and Jaskier sucks in a breath. The Witcher's gaze is serious. "Don't, Jaskier. That man is trouble."</p><p>Jaskier yanks his hand away; Geralt lets him. "And this is your business because? For once there are people who seem to actually <em> want me </em> without the risk of me having to climb out a window, and that's when you get hissy with me? Why? You never say anything when it's some village blacksmith or a serving girl."</p><p>"Do you honestly not see the difference?"</p><p>"Enlighten me."</p><p>Geralt steps closer, and Jaskier's heart skips a beat. "He could have you killed if he's displeased, Jaskier." There's an odd tone to Geralt's voice, one that Jaskier can't quite place, but he has no patience to try and identify it. Instead he smirks at the Witcher.</p><p>"Good thing he's <em> unlikely </em> to be displeased," he says flippantly, and Geralt's scowl deepens yet again. "Ah, come on, dear, don't worry. You know I very rarely disappoint a lover."</p><p>"No," Geralt says quietly, and now there's something odd in his gaze as well. "I don't know." With that he turns and walks away, and Jaskier stands there, dumbfounded.</p><p>What the <em> fuck </em> is going on?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yes, that older gentleman is definitely Regis <em>because reasons</em>, and a special shoutout to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonecoldsilly">stonecoldsilly</a>. I wrote in tambo boy just for you.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Geralt is a grumpy idiot, and the sunshine boys fuck.<br/>That's it, that's the chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier returns to his room in a weird mixture of exhaustion, annoyance and arousal, and he hates it. He can hear Geralt puttering around in his own room, and he quickly moves through the bathroom, locking the door; Geralt stills, and a moment later the door of his room opens and then slams shut again.</p><p>They never lock their doors. They have seen each other naked hundreds of times, Jaskier helps Geralt with bathing regularly, and Geralt has walked in on Jaskier's ill-timed romps often enough for there not to be much shyness between them.</p><p>Jaskier's annoyance climbs. Fucking Witchers.</p><p>He bathes quickly, washing the sweat of the performance off of himself, then dresses again in a chemise rich with lace and a thin, sleeveless doublet that he leaves unbuttoned. There's a thrumming in his veins, anticipation and low-level anxiety, but he ignores it as he dabs lavender oil behind his ears and onto his wrists. He's good at this, he reminds himself, and he deserves it. Deserves to spend time with people who look at him the way Oberyn did.</p><p>The way he wishes Geralt would.</p><p>
  <em> Fuck.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>The royal guests are housed at the other end of the palace, in a wing of their own, and Jaskier dithers for a moment when he spots the guards stationed at the corridor leading inside. Then he squares his shoulders and walks up to them.</p><p>"The bard Jaskier, to see his royal highness prince Oberyn, at your service."</p><p>The guard <em> smirks</em>, and Jaskier knows that the man knows exactly why he's here, but there is no judgment in the man's expression. The Dornish really are very peculiar.</p><p>He's led into a large sitting room and told to wait there. He should sit down. Try not to look so eager. Or anxious.</p><p>
  <em> Fuck, this was a bad idea. </em>
</p><p>A door opens to his right, and Jaskier is pretty sure his heart is going to burst out of his chest. In walks Oberyn, smiling in a way that shows how genuinely pleased he is to see Jaskier, and the bard bows low once more.</p><p>"Your highness," he murmurs, straightens again, and Oberyn's smile widens.</p><p>"None of that now, little flower," he says, and something in Jaskier's belly quivers at the endearment. "I told you, it's Oberyn. We do not stand on ceremony."</p><p>Jaskier inclines his head. "In my experience, nobility does not like it if common folk get overly familiar like that, so I hope you'll forgive me my caution."</p><p>The prince steps closer. He has shed his outer robes and only wears a loose tunic and soft-looking trousers, and Jaskier has trouble dragging his eyes away from the dip of the man's collarbones. "Hm, fair," he says, and Jaskier looks up. Oberyn is smiling softly. "I shall forgive you if you accept the offer. And it would please me greatly to hear you say my name."</p><p>"Has anyone ever told you that you are a terrible flirt," Jaskier asks and, emboldened by the prince's gentle insistence, closes the distance between them. "Your highness?"</p><p>Oberyn laughs, warm and real, his eyes crinkling in amusement. "Oh, I <em> like </em> you," he says, and he grasps Jaskier's chin between fingers and thumb again, tugs him closer until Jaskier can feel his breath against his skin. "I hope I'm not causing trouble for you with your lover?"</p><p>It takes Jaskier a moment for his brain to catch on to the prince's meaning, and he flushes bright red. "Oh, no, no, he's not- We're not-" Oberyn just watches him calmly, and he takes a deep breath. "He's not my lover," and he ignores how his heart twists as he says it, "just a friend."</p><p>Oberyn watches him a moment longer, then says, "Hm," in a manner that is far too familiar. Then he leans in and kisses him.</p><p>The man is a good kisser, to no one's surprise, and Jaskier lets himself sink into it. It has been a while since he has been with a man, his longing for his Witcher so overpowering he's been afraid he'd call out the man's name in the throes of passion. Not exactly something he aspires to do.</p><p>No danger of that with Oberyn, he thinks as the prince licks into his mouth. He's too different from Geralt, and Jaskier decides to wring every drop of pleasure from this encounter that he can.</p><p>When they part, his knees are more than a little weak, and he reaches up and fists one hand into Oberyn's tunic. "Oh, that was… really quite good," he murmurs, eyes still closed, and the prince chuckles. He strokes gentle fingertips along the edge of Jaskier's jaw, then takes him by the hand and tugs him over to a low sofa.</p><p>"Hm, that it was," he says once they're both seated, turned towards each other. The prince has an arm thrown over the back of the sofa, and Jaskier leans against it, his hands in his lap. In the low light, Oberyn's eyes look almost black.</p><p>"Is the lady Sand not going to join us," he asks, and the prince chuckles again.</p><p>"My love has been invited to spend some time with the duchess," he explains, and Jaskier's eyebrows rise. That certainly sounds <em> suggestive.</em> "And don't let her hear you call her a lady," the prince continues with a smirk, "she is a bastard and proud of it."</p><p>Jaskier's brows rise higher. "I find myself very intrigued indeed by Dornish customs, my prince. Is it common for royalty to cavort with us common folk in your country?"</p><p>"In Dorne, yes. Ellaria is mother to four of my daughters," Oberyn says, his smile turning wistful. There's a story here, nay, dozens of stories, Jaskier thinks, and he finds himself mirroring the prince's smile.</p><p>"Four daughters! I can't imagine."</p><p>The prince's smile widens. "Four of eight," he says proudly, and Jaskier bites his lip.</p><p>"My, that's rather a lot." <em> All or nothing</em>, he thinks. "Your highness must be very… virile."</p><p>Oberyn laughs at that, an honest, full laugh that has Jaskier smiling along, and then the prince brings his hand from the back of the sofa to Jaskier's neck. Jaskier's eyes flutter at the gentle pressure. "You and I are going to have a lot of fun, I think," Oberyn says softly, and Jaskier leans in.</p><p>"I'm always up for fun, especially if it involves someone as handsome as you," he murmurs, then adds silkily, "<em>Oberyn</em>."</p><p>The man's smile turns predatory, and Jaskier's stomach does a flip. "Knew I'd like my name on your lips." He tugs gently, and Jaskier goes along willingly, catching himself on his hands on either side of the prince's hips. Their faces are less than a hand's width apart, and he can feel Oberyn's breath on his skin. He smirks.</p><p>"Want to find out what I sound like screaming it?"</p><p>Now Oberyn's eyes flutter closed, and his grip on Jaskier's neck tightens. "Fuck, it's like the gods placed you here just for me."</p><p>Jaskier tips forward, until his lips brush against the prince's. "Maybe they did," he murmurs, and then he kisses Oberyn and the man's fingers dig into the back of his neck as his lips part for Jaskier.</p><p>It's surprisingly uncoordinated, with Jaskier at risk of just toppling face first into the man's lap, and he loves every second of it. Oberyn's other hand moves to his doublet, fisting into the fabric, and Jaskier lets himself be pulled up to straddle the prince's thighs without ever breaking the kiss.</p><p>They spend so much time just like that, kissing, in turn gentle, then harder, with more teeth, and Jaskier can't remember the last time he's done this. Even with his unhurried dalliances, kissing doesn't seem like a priority to most people.</p><p>Oberyn, it turns out, <em> loves </em> to kiss him.</p><p>At some point Jaskier shrugs off his doublet, far too hot already, and Oberyn makes an appreciative noise before he reaches up and tugs at the laces of Jaskier's chemise. "You wear far too many layers, my flower," he rasps, and Jaskier smirks at him.</p><p>"Eager."</p><p>Oberyn groans, his hands going to Jaskier's hips and pulling him down, fully into his lap. Jaskier chokes on air; Oberyn is hard beneath him, the hot length of his cock a promise against his thigh. "You have no idea," the prince groans. His voice cracks when Jaskier rocks against him, ever so slightly. "I saw you on your balcony and knew I had to have you. Standing there in the sun, in nothing but your underthings."</p><p>Jaskier rocks his hips again as he reaches up, cups the man's jaw with both hands. His beard is soft against his palms. "You have me," he says softly, and the breath shudders out of the prince.</p><p>They end up leaving a trail of clothes on their way to what turns out to be an outrageously lavish bedroom. Not that Jaskier is paying much attention to interior decorating, not with the way Oberyn is palming his arse and nibbling on the column of his throat. By the time they reach the bed, Jaskier is naked while the prince has only tugged off his tunic, and Jaskier thinks he might go up in flames if the man keeps looking at him like that much longer.</p><p>He spreads himself out on the bed, extends a leg and pokes Oberyn's thigh with his toe. "Now who's overdressed?"</p><p>The prince may be broad-shouldered and tall but he's lean and almost sinewy otherwise, and Jaskier thinks he may know where the man got his nom de guerre from. He all but tears off his remaining clothes before crawling up onto the bed, into the vee of Jaskier's legs. That predatory look is back, and Jaskier's cock twitches against his stomach. "You, my flower, are a pleasant surprise," he murmurs as he runs his fingers through the hair covering Jaskier's chest. "Dress yourself in lace and silks, and then you look like this underneath?"</p><p>"Sorry if you expected something else." Jaskier's head tips back when Oberyn rubs at a nipple with his thumb, then pinches it gently.</p><p>"Oh, I am delighted by this turn of events." The prince leans down and mouths at Jaskier's throat again. "Tell me, sunflower, what is it you want?"</p><p><em> Everything</em>, Jaskier thinks, but what he says is, "Let me suck your cock?"</p><p>Oberyn makes a wounded sound and surges up to claim Jaskier's mouth again, and it's lovely and perfect. When he releases the bard, Oberyn rolls off of him and flops onto his back, and Jaskier follows smoothly. The prince's cock is shaped much like the rest of him, long and just thick enough to spread him oh so nicely, and Jaskier's stomach flips at the thought of having that inside of him.</p><p>He loves doing this, being on his knees (or on his  belly, as is now the case) with his mouth full of cock, being able to take someone apart with nothing but lips and tongue. It's a rush, and it makes him feel powerful. It's a contradiction, he thinks, when he is so vulnerable like this, when he could get choked or hurt doing it, but he can't help but love it.</p><p>Besides, he's not scared of using his teeth should things ever get out of control.</p><p>There's no need to worry about such things now though. Oberyn lets him do as he pleases, lying back and giving him free rein, just watching him with those dark eyes. It's thrilling, and Jaskier adjusts himself against the mattress. Oberyn smirks.</p><p>"Shouldn't surprise me that a bard has such a talented mouth," he murmurs, reaching down to softly stroke his thumb over Jaskier's lips where they're stretched around his cock. Jaskier hums and takes him deeper; Oberyn's eyes flutter. "I cannot wait to hear you sing for me when I fuck you."</p><p>Jaskier hums again, then pulls off ever so slowly. "Tell me what you want to do with me," he says, his lips brushing against the head of the man's cock as he speaks before he sinks down again, and Oberyn slides his hand into his hair; not pushing or guiding, just holding him, and Jaskier hums again, pleased.</p><p>"Oh, where to start," Oberyn says, breathless. "I want to fuck you on my fingers, slow and easy, see how many you can take before you're begging for my cock. I want to drink the moans from your lips, take them inside myself and keep them forever."</p><p><em> Fuck,</em> Jaskier thinks, and he presses his hips into the mattress again.</p><p>"I want to bend you in half, watch my cock split you open. I want you to ride me, to take your pleasure from me, to use my body to get your release." Oberyn's hand moves down, cups his jaw. "I want to know how to touch you to make you spill, how long it takes to exhaust you."</p><p>Jaskier moans around him. If the prince keeps up this frankly delicious dirty talk, this may be over rather quickly. He pulls off again, dragging his tongue along the underside, flicking it over the head. "Hmm, that sounds like a plan," he murmurs, and Oberyn grins.</p><p>"Come here," he rasps, and Jaskier wastes no more time. He crawls into the man's lap, slotting their cocks together, and Oberyn grabs him by the hips. "There's oil in the nightstand," he says as he leans forward and presses hungry kisses to Jaskier's throat, and Jaskier fumbles for the drawer.</p><p>"Don't tell me Anarietta had the rooms outfitted like this," he says, voice laced with amusement. He wouldn't put it past her.</p><p>"No, I confess I was rather hopeful you'd agree to come and see me."</p><p>Jaskier rolls his hips. "That's what we're calling this?"</p><p>Oberyn laughs. His fingers dig into Jaskier's flesh. "Alright, let me rephrase. I was hoping you'd let me fuck you senseless." His teeth scrape across Jaskier's throat; the bard shivers.</p><p>"Now you're raising my expectations. I'll have to hold you to that." He holds up the bottle. "Shall I, or would you like to do the honours?" In answer, Oberyn holds up a hand, and Jaskier pours oil over his fingers. "Slowly, please," he breathes when Oberyn reaches behind him, when he strokes gentle fingers over Jaskier's hole, "I'm afraid it's been a while."</p><p>The prince moans against Jaskier's throat. "Gods, you really are a gift, sunflower," he rumbles, and then he presses in.</p><p>It really <em> has </em> been a while, Jaskier finds as Oberyn works him open oh so slowly. It's not painful, not at all, but he's not used to it anymore and it's all the more intense for it. He's moaning and leaking by the time there are three fingers inside him, and Oberyn is looking at him with a mixture of lust and adoration, and Jaskier's blood sings.</p><p>"Please," he gasps as the prince spreads his fingers carefully, "please fuck me, I can't wait any longer."</p><p>In response, Oberyn pulls his fingers free and rolls them over, slotting their mouths together smoothly. Jaskier moans into the kiss and slides his hands into the prince's hair, holds him close as Oberyn searches blindly for the oil.</p><p>The prince lines up and Jaskier cups his own cock, tugs his balls out of the way. He smirks when Oberyn groans at the sight. "You wanted to watch when you split me open," Jaskier says softly. "Here's your chance."</p><p>Oberyn pushes inside with a low, desperate moan, and Jaskier gasps. It's perfect, the stretch delicious after so long, and he claws at the other's shoulders until he's buried inside Jaskier to the root. "Jaskier…" Oberyn's voice trembles, like the bard's heat around him is a revelation, and Jaskier buries his face against the prince's throat with a whine.</p><p>"<em>Please,</em>" he gasps, and Oberyn moves.</p><p>He fucks Jaskier with long, measured strokes, reaching so deeply inside him that it makes Jaskier's toes curl. Their kisses are gentle and messy, and Oberyn keeps his promise: he catches all of Jaskier's moans and swallows them down, and for a wild second Jaskier forgets that this is just sex, that this man belongs to someone else. </p><p>He lets himself imagine what it would be like: traveling back to Westeros with Oberyn, learning everything there is to know about his lover and his country, waking up to dark eyes and easy, teasing smiles. He could fall in love with him, Jaskier knows.</p><p>It would be beautiful, and in that moment, he wants it with an intensity that makes his throat close up.</p><p>He arches beneath the prince, gasps for breath. Oberyn nuzzles his throat. "Fuck, you're perfect, little flower, so perfect for me," and tears prick at the corners of Jaskier's eyes.</p><p>"Harder," he gasps, to give himself an excuse for his breathlessness, and Oberyn complies with a broken noise. He hooks Jaskier's legs over his arms, spreads him open, and Jaskier chokes at the harsh slide of Oberyn's cock over his sweet spot. "<em>Fuck, Oberyn,</em>" he gasps, and the prince pushes himself up on his hands. His eyes are black and glinting with lust. Jaskier whimpers, drags blunt nails along his sides.</p><p>"Are you going to come for me?"</p><p>"Not yet, please, not yet," he gasps, even as heat curls in his stomach. "Don't want it to be over."</p><p>Oberyn's face softens ever so slightly, and he leans down and kisses him softly. "We have all the time we want, Jaskier," he murmurs, and Jaskier shudders. "What do you need, my darling?"</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>," is all he can say to that, because <em> really</em>. "Just don't stop, just fuck me, I want-" <em> I want to forget</em>, he thinks, unbidden.</p><p>Forget that, after this, he'll go back to trailing after his Witcher, who won't look his way twice. Who doesn't feel the way Jaskier does.</p><p>"Make me yours," he gasps in a moment of madness, and he closes his eyes to block out Oberyn's light frown. Again, the prince complies. </p><p>He rises to his knees and pushes Jaskier's legs towards his chest, and Jaskier grabs hold of his own knees, spreading himself for the other. Oberyn's fingers dig into his hips, and Jaskier hopes they will leave bruises.</p><p>He tries to resist, he does, but he can feel himself hurtling towards the edge under the Dornishman's onslaught, and all too soon he's gasping out a, "Oberyn, I'm gonna-"</p><p>Oberyn winds a hand around his cock and pushes him over with quick, merciless strokes, and Jaskier screams, a wild, wounded sound, as his orgasm races through him like wildfire. Oberyn fucks him through it, even as his thrusts grow sloppier, and his hands shake where they hold onto Jaskier. "Beautiful," he groans, and Jaskier whimpers. Oberyn gasps, his hips pumping harder. "Jaskier, tell me where," he bites out.</p><p>"In me," he gasps, reaches for the man, and Oberyn almost drops down onto him, their mouths crashing against each other in a biting kiss. Oberyn ruts into him, hard and fast and exquisite, and Jaskier mutters praise, "Yes, so good, fucking me so good, fill me up, love, give it to me," and Oberyn gives a cry as he pushes into him as deep as he'll go. He grinds against Jaskier, moaning and panting for breath, and Jaskier winds his arms around his neck and holds him close.</p><p>They cling to each other as they wait for their breathing to calm, for their hearts to slow, and finally Oberyn lifts his head from its spot in the crook of Jaskier's throat and kisses him again, softly, sweetly. Jaskier laughs against his lips breathlessly.</p><p>"That was… quite fantastic."</p><p>"Hm, I agree." Oberyn pulls out of him, then rolls to the side. Jaskier starfishes for a moment, but only until the prince pulls him close. "Knew you'd sing so prettily for me," he says, smug, and Jaskier chuckles and pokes him in the ribs.</p><p>"Knew you'd know how to make me sing." He sighs, closing his eyes and letting himself bask in the afterglow a moment longer. It'll all be over far too soon, and he'll have to gather his clothes and slink back to his room.</p><p>"Stay," Oberyn mumbles into the side of his neck, his arm tightening around Jaskier's waist as though he can sense the bard's thoughts. "I can't bear to let you go just yet."</p><p>Jaskier wants to stay, wants to let this gorgeous, lovely man lavish him with attention. "What about Ellaria?"</p><p>"Hmm, she won't mind." He nuzzles Jaskier's jaw, humming. "Seven hells, she might join us, if you're amenable to that?"</p><p>"Am I amenable to sharing a bed with an absolutely drop dead gorgeous woman? What kind of a question is that?" Oberyn laughs again, and somehow pulls Jaskier even closer.</p><p>The exhaustion of the day is catching up to him, his eyes drooping as Oberyn holds him close, the man's soft breaths puffing against Jaskier's throat, and before he knows it, he has drifted off into a deep, sated sleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sexy times AND plot in one chapter? What is the world coming to.</p><p>Little warning, Geralt is extra mean in this chapter. Poor dumb Witcher's feeling neglected and turns stupid. So nothing new there.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier wakes to the singing of birds outside the windows. There must be sunlight falling across the bed; his calves feel much warmer than the rest of him. Across his waist, he can feel the familiar weight of someone's arm, and he hums, still sleepy and utterly, decadently comfortable.</p><p>The body beside him moves, and then there are soft lips against his shoulder. "Good morning, little flower," Oberyn rasps against his skin, voice rough from sleep, and Jaskier shivers.</p><p>"Good morning, your highness."</p><p>The prince chuckles and presses a line of kisses down his spine. "So we're back to that. Tell me, sunflower, do you only call me by my name when I'm inside you?"</p><p>Goosebumps prickle all over Jaskier's arms, and he hums. "Maybe. But I could ask you the same question. Guess we'll have to test that theory."</p><p>He's so relaxed and still somewhat open from last night that all it needs is some slick, and Oberyn sinks into him easily, straddling his hips. It's gentle and slow, lazy almost, and Jaskier closes his eyes, tilts his hips back ever so slightly as Oberyn presses kisses to his neck, his shoulders.</p><p>"How someone as lovely as you has not been snatched up yet is a mystery to me," the prince murmurs, and Jaskier sighs.</p><p>"I'm not one for settling down," he says, then smiles, watching Oberyn from the corner of his eye, "your highness."</p><p>The prince huffs a laugh, nips at his shoulder. "Brat." He pushes a little deeper then, and Jaskier's breath hitches.</p><p>The pace stays slow and easy, and Jaskier melts into the mattress under Oberyn's gentle ministrations. It's been forever since someone had him like this, with how most of his encounters are at least somewhat hurried and clandestine. Sex is never really <em> bad </em> for him, but it's often rushed, and this is the polar opposite. Oberyn's movements are almost <em> too </em> slow, and Jaskier shifts, restlessly, his cock drooling into the bedsheets.</p><p>"You'd look magnificent in the water gardens," Oberyn murmurs, apropos of nothing, and Jaskier hums, questioning. The prince drapes himself across his back, hips rolling into him at a truly excruciatingly slow pace now. "They're my family's retreat, on the coast of the Summer Sea. Even in autumn, it is warm enough to sleep naked, and during the day, there are more pools to relax in than I care to count."</p><p>"That sounds marvelous," Jaskier breathes as he lets himself imagine, though he wrinkles his nose a bit. "I'm afraid I would burn up rather quickly."</p><p>"Hm, you are oh so fair," Oberyn whispers, "I shall have to keep you inside, keep you otherwise occupied." He angles his thrusts then, fucks into Jaskier only a bit faster, and heat licks up the bard's spine. He moans; Oberyn's grip on him tightens. "Think you can come like this, my flower?"</p><p>Jaskier gasps at a particularly well-aimed thrust. "I don't- <em> aah- </em> don't know."</p><p>The prince hums. "Let's find out."</p><p>Jaskier drifts, lets himself just <em> feel.</em> Oberyn takes him apart with infinite gentleness, and it turns out he <em> can </em> come like that. It's a different kind of orgasm, a slow, soft thing almost that has him whimpering into the sheets, and Oberyn presses kisses against his neck and the shell of his ear, murmuring praise as he fucks him through it.</p><p>"There we are, Jaskier, my sunflower, my dandelion, bright as the sun, so lovely when you come for me."</p><p>Jaskier whimpers again, clings to the man's arm. "Please," he whines, even though he doesn't know what he's even asking for, "<em>please,</em> Oberyn, I-"</p><p>"Sssh, my darling, let me, just let me," and he kisses the top of Jaskier's spine as he keeps to his maddeningly slow pace. By the time Oberyn's breath comes faster, Jaskier is close to tears with how sensitive he is.</p><p>"Please come, I can't- It's too much, <em> please,</em>" he whimpers, and Oberyn groans.</p><p>"In you again?"</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>, yes," and Oberyn thrusts harder, just a couple of times, before he presses himself deep into Jaskier, muffling his groan against his back.</p><p>Jaskier is still floating, twitching with the aftershocks, when there's a knock on the door and a moment later, a woman calls, "It's me, my love, can I come in?"</p><p>He goes rigid beneath Oberyn. The prince just hums against his shoulder. "What do you say, my flower, can Ellaria join us?"</p><p>Jaskier flushes. Oberyn is still buried to the root inside him, hasn't even gone soft yet. "You- We're-" He cranes his head, squints up at the prince. "Won't she <em> mind</em>?"</p><p>"No," Oberyn answers simply, and Jaskier doesn't quite know what to do with that.</p><p>Instead he just squeaks, "Sheet," and Oberyn kisses his cheek with a smile before he pulls a bed sheet over them.</p><p>"Come in," the prince calls over his shoulder, still nuzzling the back of Jaskier's neck, and then the door opens and Ellaria Sand walks in. She looks just as radiant as the night before. Oberyn hums pleasantly. "Good morning, my love," he murmurs, and Ellaria walks over to the side of the bed, leaning down. Jaskier looks away when they kiss.</p><p>He has been in many odd situations in his life. Comes with being a traveling bard, with being a Witcher's… companion. This is quite possibly the oddest one yet, a prince's cock seated firmly in his arse while the man's paramour kisses him and then smiles warmly at Jaskier as she seats herself on the edge of the bed.</p><p>"I trust you two had a good night?"</p><p>"Hm, I believe we did." Oberyn shifts above him, just slightly, and it sends pleasure whispering over his nerve endings. "What do you say, little dandelion?"</p><p>Jaskier huffs and tries to ignore the way his cheeks heat further under Ellaria's gaze. "Are you just going to call me every single yellow flower you can think of? I do wish Geralt hadn't told you what my name means."</p><p>The prince hums again, then kisses the line of Jaskier's shoulder. "I don't," he breathes. "Buttercups are hardy, resilient." He rolls his hips, the slightest bit; Jaskier's breath hitches. "Poisonous." He kisses his shoulder again. "Pretty." Jaskier can't stop his huff of laughter. "Dandelions, too, are hardy. And," here he nips at Jaskier's throat lightly, "all parts of it are edible."</p><p>Jaskier snorts and starts giggling, burying his face in the sheets. "Oh gods, that was so bad."</p><p>Oberyn bites down a little harder at the column of his neck, and Jaskier's head snaps back. "Hm, but it's true." He soothes the bite with another kiss, then lifts himself to his elbows. "You were so good for me, my darling," he murmurs, and then he pulls out, slowly. Jaskier's eyes flutter; he both loves and hates the sensation, the overwhelming drag of it, and the loss.</p><p>Beside them, Ellaria smiles knowingly as Oberyn flops down onto the mattress between them. "You, my love, are expected to meet the council in about an hour."</p><p>The prince groans and rolls onto his side, hiding his face against Jaskier's arm. "Tell them I am horribly ill. Can't possibly see anyone today." Jaskier smiles, and Ellaria chuckles.</p><p>"Your little dandelion can come back tonight," she says, then meets Jaskier's surprised gaze, "only if you want to, of course."</p><p>Oberyn's fingers are idly stroking along his spine, dipping into the valley of his lower back, a butterfly touch that makes goosebumps rise all over him. There's really no question. "I'd like that," he says, then tips his head to meet Oberyn's eyes. The way the prince looks at him is incredibly soft, and Jaskier's heart flutters oddly.</p><p>"Well," Oberyn says with a sigh that sounds as though it has been pulled from the bottom of his chest, "I suppose I had better go do my duty then." He tilts his head, clearly asking Jaskier for a kiss, and he obliges gladly. Oberyn hums, hand moving down to squeeze Jaskier's arse. "I'll see you at dinner?"</p><p>"Hm." He watches as the prince sighs once more, then pushes himself up. He kisses Ellaria, too, then gets up in all his naked glory. Jaskier hadn't really got a chance to admire the man's backside yesterday, and he looks his fill now. Beside him, Ellaria chuckles again.</p><p>"One more question, though," he says as Oberyn digs through a chest for fresh clothes. The prince makes an encouraging noise, and so he asks, "Why sunflower?"</p><p>Oberyn looks up, and now there is something weirdly… hopeful in his gaze. "You have seen the banner of my house, yes?" Jaskier nods. The red sun of Dorne. "The sun. And what do sunflowers do?"</p><p>Jaskier's cheeks heat again. "They turn towards the sun." Oberyn grins then, winks, and disappears into what Jaskier assumes is the bathroom.</p><p>His heart thuds heavily against his ribs. He knows himself too well to ignore his reactions, knows that if he's not careful he will fall head over heels in love with this man.</p><p>He thinks about white hair, and golden eyes, and there's an ache behind his breastbone. Maybe falling in love with Oberyn would be the smart thing to do.</p><p>Beside him, Ellaria shifts to sit more comfortably on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. "We haven't really been introduced," she says now, smiling at Jaskier. "I'm Ellaria."</p><p>"It's a pleasure, my lady," he answers as he pushes himself up onto his elbows, taking her hand in his and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Ellaria chuckles.</p><p>"I assume he warned you about calling me that."</p><p>"He did," Jaskier answers idly, then winks at her. "But one can't abandon one's courtesy simply based on what noble folk think about one's origins."</p><p>She laughs, and it makes her sharp features soften pleasantly. "Oh, I can see why he likes you," she says.</p><p>"Hm, I have a feeling my delectable arse has more to do with that."</p><p>Ellaria shakes her head gently. "In part, yes. But the way he behaved with you? That means he didn't just enjoy fucking your no doubt marvelous arse. He likes <em> you.</em>"</p><p>Jaskier's stomach twists almost painfully, and he looks down at his hands. He's still holding onto hers. "Don't hear that very often," he murmurs. "People usually tell me to pipe it down or take myself elsewhere." One of them far too often being Geralt. He frowns.</p><p>"That's a shame," Ellaria says softly. She slides down on the mattress until her head rests on a pillow so she can look at him; Jaskier flops down onto his belly again. "That man you sat with yesterday," she asks, cautiously, testing the waters, "is he your lover?"</p><p>There's the familiar pang in his chest. People often assume that they are, even if most take a less charitable view of it. It usually goes more in the direction of the big brutal Witcher keeping him around to keep his dick warm. People don't really consider that Witchers might be capable of feelings, but that is probably the men's own fault. They do encourage the whole 'Witchers don't feel' bullshit.</p><p>"No," he says softly, "we're just friends."</p><p>Ellaria keeps looking at him, and he fights against the impulse to squirm under her gaze. "I was just wondering," she says after a moment. "He was watching you all evening."</p><p>There's a lump in his throat, and it spasms as he swallows. "He's a Witcher. A monster hunter. He… protects me." He gives her a lopsided smile. "I may have offended some husbands in this court."</p><p>She chuckles. "That does not surprise me. Still," and her gaze turns inquisitive, "I was almost certain."</p><p>Jaskier rolls onto his back, looks up at the ceiling. After a long minute he says, "He doesn't feel that way about me."</p><p>Ellaria sucks in a breath beside him, and then her hand presses against his bicep. "Oh, I'm sorry, Jaskier."</p><p>His eyes burn, but he will not cry. "It's alright. I've had a lot of time to get used to it." He turns his head to look at her. He's sure his smile wobbles terribly. "And I'm not here to bemoan my terrible fate, am I?" He leans over, intends to kiss her. She's damnably attractive, and he doesn't only want to kiss her to change the subject, but Ellaria gently places her fingers against his lips, stopping him.</p><p>"Not like that, little flower," she says with a soft smile. "Not when you look like you're about to cry."</p><p>Jaskier's mouth twists, and Ellaria opens her arms for him. He doesn't cry, but he hides his face against her shoulder until he doesn't feel quite so open and vulnerable any more. That's how Oberyn finds them when he has finished bathing, dressed again in one or those outrageous tunic and robe combinations. He smiles softly as he watches them from the doorway.</p><p>"A lovely sight," he says as he crosses over to the bed. He leans over them, kisses first Ellaria, then Jaskier. "Will you join us tonight?"</p><p>Ellaria's arm tightens ever so slightly around him, and he nods.</p><p>Oberyn's smile is like the sun.</p>
<hr/><p>Jaskier returns to his room after bathing in Oberyn's suite at Ellaria's insistence. It's almost noon already. He has spent a very pleasant time talking with the woman, telling her about the continent, his time as a bard. He touches on his life with Geralt, obviously, can't really avoid it, but he keeps it brief. Doesn't talk about how he feels.</p><p>If he did he'd never stop crying.</p><p>In turn, Ellaria tells him about Westeros, the many kingdoms it's made up of, and his eyes nearly bug out of his head when she tells him about the Wall and the White Walkers, and the war they brought.</p><p>"That sounds- Dear gods, the songs I could write! All that material!" He'd flopped back against the edge of the tub, the corners of his mouth twisting downwards. "Oh, if only there wasn't a literal ocean between us!"</p><p>In response, she handed him a stack of books after he had dressed himself again. "We brought these for the duchess but I'm sure she won't mind if you borrow them for a bit." Inside are all the events she described to him, and Jaskier nearly vibrates out of his skin. Instead, he throws his arms around her neck, and now he does kiss her, soft and chaste, and she laughs against his lips and hugs him back.</p><p>When Jaskier drops the books on his bed, his eyes stray automatically to the doors to Geralt's room. They're wide open, and he steps inside, looking around. The Witcher's weapons are gone, and for a moment his heart beats in his throat. <em> He left,</em> he thinks, but then he spots Geralt's bags in a corner, mortar and pestle on a table by the window. A hunt then.</p><p>He doesn't even think about it, he prepares his soaps and bath salts, towels and bandages and salves, because if Geralt is on a hunt, he might need them when he returns.</p><p>When he's done, he settles himself at the desk in his room and starts reading, his eyebrows at constant risk of disappearing into his hair. He's used to magic, to monsters, but it's all so different, and he's transfixed. He hardly notices the sun reaching its zenith, then dipping lower, and by the time the door to Geralt's room flies open, making him jump, he must have been reading and taking notes for hours.</p><p>Jaskier hops to his feet, turning on the hot water on his way through the bathroom - indoor plumbing, truly one of the greatest inventions ever conceived of - before he flies into Geralt's room. "Geralt?"</p><p>The Witcher is by the door still, covered in… something. His chest is heaving, and he's staring at the table where Jaskier set up his healing supplies. Then, finally, he looks at him.</p><p>"Are you alright?" Jaskier's heart is racing, quite suddenly. He can't interpret the expression on Geralt's face at all, can't remember the last time he saw the man look at him this blankly. "I didn't know what you were dealing with, so I just set up the basics-"</p><p>Geralt throws the door closed behind himself, and Jaskier flinches. The Witcher's nostrils flare, ever so slightly. "I'm fine," he growls at length.</p><p>"Th-that's good. Do you want me to h-"</p><p>"No." Geralt looks away then and drops his swords beside the door, then starts undoing buckles. Jaskier shifts awkwardly from one foot to the other.</p><p>"I ran you a bath," he says when Geralt is done with his armour, and he can see the man's lip curl away from his teeth.</p><p>"Maybe you should take it."</p><p>"What? I had a bath, why-"</p><p>Now Geralt looks up at him. His pupils are angry slits, and Jaskier takes a step back, confused. "Because I can smell him on you," Geralt hisses, then adds, "<em>in you</em>."</p><p>There's an odd ringing in Jaskier's ears, and his face grows hot. Then he turns on his heel and storms back into his own room, slamming the door behind himself.</p><p>His heart is in his throat. What the fuck is Geralt's fucking <em> problem</em>? He has never reacted like this to Jaskier smelling of some man, or woman for that matter. The most the Witcher would do is roll his eyes and maybe face away when they had to share a bed, but he never… He never really <em> cared</em>. Why is this different?</p><p>He's pacing up and down the room, his stomach doing flips. He thinks he might be sick. In the room beyond the bathroom, he can hear Geralt toss his armour pieces onto the ground, can hear him throw his clothes at a piece of furniture.</p><p>Then there's a knock at the door to his room.</p><p>Jaskier shivers, steels himself. "What?"</p><p>The door opens slowly. Geralt stands there in his braies, hair matted with whatever gunk he got onto himself this time, and he looks rather like a kicked puppy. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, "I shouldn't have… said that."</p><p>Jaskier huffs. "No, you really shouldn't have."</p><p>"I'm not- I'm not angry with you, Jaskier." He looks at him steadily, but Jaskier knows him too well to be fooled. Beneath his still features, he's squirming. "I just don't trust that man."</p><p>Something bitter raises its head inside Jaskier. "Yeah, well. I do. He hasn't given me any reason to distrust him. And I would ask you to please trust <em> me</em>, and my judgment."</p><p>Geralt's eyebrow twitches, but then he nods, just once. "Should I-" He motions at the door as he turns back into the bathroom; Jaskier waves it off.</p><p>"Leave it, I don't mind."</p><p>Geralt nods again, then disappears into the bathroom. Jaskier… exhales, the knot of anxiety in his stomach loosening ever so slightly.</p>
<hr/><p>The evening plays out rather similarly to the prior one: Jaskier plays, Geralt glowers, and Oberyn keeps undressing him with his eyes as Anarietta pretends not to see.</p><p>When Anarietta leaves, Geralt almost materialises out of thin air by his side. He's not all that surprised when the Witcher keeps a distrustful eye on the high table, where Oberyn and Ellaria are talking quietly with one of their party.</p><p>"You're going with him again," Geralt says in a tight voice. It's not a question, and something twinges in Jaskier's chest.</p><p>"Geralt-"</p><p>"It's fine." It's very clearly <em> not </em> fine, but Jaskier can't for the life of him figure out why. Geralt gives him a nod, lips pressed tightly together. "I'll see you tomorrow."</p><p>Jaskier stands there, feeling more than a bit lost as he watches his friend leave.</p>
<hr/><p>Ellaria comes to find him a short while later, and she ushers him out of the hall. "Are you alright? You look a bit pale." She quirks a smile. "I mean, paler than usual."</p><p>"I'm fine. Where are we going?"</p><p>"Oberyn is just arranging some things, we get a head start," she says with a wink as she slips her arm into the crook of his elbow. "Thought you might like to clean up a bit. All these layers in this weather." She reaches up and tugs gently at the collar of his doublet. Jaskier chuckles.</p><p>"It is awfully warm, isn't it?"</p><p>"To be dressed like that? Most certainly. In Dorne, this is a pleasant day in autumn."</p><p>"Oh dear," he says, and Ellaria's laughter trails behind them on their way to the royal suite.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>WHOOPS.</p><p>Ok, this fought me hard and I'm not 100% happy but this is where I am right now. </p><p>Feelings? In *my* porn? More likely than you think!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ellaria shoos him into the bathroom as soon as they reach the suite, plucking his lute out of his hands and placing it carefully on a table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You look like you're about to melt," she says good-naturedly, and he shrugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The things we do for fashion." He does as he's told, anyway, unbuttoning his doublet with practiced ease as she turns on the water, adding bathing salts. "Speaking of," he says as he shrugs out of the garment, "you caused quite the stir yesterday with your outfit."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ellaria drags a fingertip down her throat, over her collarbone and down the valley between her breasts. She grins when she says, "Really? I barely noticed."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier chuckles and unlaces his chemise. "Not that I'm complaining. You wear it well."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughs, and then she crouches and tugs off his boots. "That is true, but I admit that more layers can also be fun. Oberyn was beside himself imagining what you looked like under all of this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I noticed." He smirks as he pulls his chemise up and over his head, and Ellaria makes an appreciative noise. "Can I ask you something?" She hums, hands dropping to the fastening of his trousers. "Do the two of you do this often?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugs as she unbuttons him, pulls the laces free. "Oberyn has an appetite. I don't pretend that I'd be able to satisfy it on my own, nor do I want to. We both have needs the other can't fulfill. Why shouldn't we look elsewhere for that?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Some people may call that cheating." He's bare before her now, and she holds out a hand to guide him into the water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If we did it in secret, it would be, I agree. This way, we know what happens. We can say no, too, if the partner the other has chosen is objectionable to us." She smiles as Jaskier sits, groaning as the warm water envelops him. "We are in agreement that it is selfish to expect one person to satisfy every need or even wish or fantasy we have."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier leans back against the side of the tub, watching her. She's truly magnificent, he thinks. "A very hedonistic view."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hm, maybe, but do you disagree?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks about it for a moment. He has certainly been accused of being a hedonist, but he sees it more as the side effect of searching for someone who will want him, and who will let him love them. So far he has been unsuccessful, and if being called a hedonist is the worst people throw his way, he considers himself lucky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No," he says at length, "I suppose I don't. It's just odd to see it flaunted so openly."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ellaria moves around the room before she comes back with a sponge and soaps. "Dorne is very liberal, but I admit it is the exception in that regard even in Westeros. Highgarden, our neighbour, is similar but it's all very secretive and couched in flowery prose and schemes." She sits down behind him, and Jaskier shivers when her breath flutters over his shoulder. She holds up the sponge. "May I?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Feel free."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's simultaneously utterly relaxing and highly arousing to let her wash him. She does so with calm, indulgent movements, the sponge soft against his skin. Ellaria reaches around him, her elbows resting on his shoulders as she cleans his chest, then down his stomach, and he doesn't try to hide the way his cock thickens between his legs. His eyes slip closed and his head tips back, and he moans when she strokes one soft palm through his chest hair before she cups his pectoral, thumb teasing at his nipple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So responsive," she murmurs against his ear, and Jaskier shivers. "I see why Oberyn is so keen on you." Her lips brush against the shell of his ear. "It's so easy to play with you, to pull the sweetest sounds from your lips."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier is lost, her touch and her words igniting a fire in his guts, and he turns his head to kiss her. Now, she allows it, opening for him when he licks at the seam of her lips. She tastes like wine, and he sighs into her mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That's how Oberyn finds them, the sponge floating abandoned in the tub as Ellaria cups his chest with both hands, fingers gently teasing his nipples, and Jaskier whimpering into her kiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"A man could get used to such a sight upon returning home," the prince says softly, and Jaskier blinks lazily up at him as Ellaria leans her head against his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hm, what took you so long, my love? Your little dandelion was getting impatient."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nuzzles against her cheek a bit petulantly. "Was not. You kept me very well occupied."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oberyn crosses the room, shedding his robes and tunic along the way. His hand joins Ellaria's, trailing first over his chest and then down, down, over his stomach and then- "I can see that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier arches into his touch with a moan. "Oberyn…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, my flower?" The prince thumbs at the head of Jaskier's cock teasingly, and Jaskier moans again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Gods, this is exactly what I imagined when I first saw the two of you," he breathes, hips shifting under Oberyn's attentions. "Being caught between the two of you, to do with as you please."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ellaria chuckles, her hands squeezing his chest gently. "Would you like that? For us to take you apart together?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oberyn twists his hand just so then, and Jaskier's breath stutters out of him. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, yes, I want it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What do you say, my love," she asks, pressing a soft kiss to Jaskier's jaw, "should we oblige the little flower?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think we should," the prince answers softly, and releases Jaskier's cock, a development he is not at all in favour of. He whines, twisting in the water, but Ellaria shushes him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Patience, sweet one."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They help him out of the tub, drying him with soft sheets, and Jaskier finds himself floating, his mind hazy as Oberyn leads him into the bedroom. Everything is a little soft, as though he drank just that bit too much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oberyn arranges him on the bed before he pulls back to finish undressing, and before Jaskier can protest the loss Ellaria moves to sit beside him, gloriously naked. He wants to admire her, the soft curve of her belly, her small breasts, but she intercepts him and guides him into a kiss. He sighs, letting her lead him, and by the time he comes up for air, Oberyn climbs onto the bed and presses himself to Jaskier's back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Look at you, little flower, look at how much you have to give," he says softly, kissing the back of Jaskier's neck. "The things seeing the two of you does to me.” He’s growing hard against Jaskier’s arse as he winds an arm around him, stroking Jaskier’s belly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whines softly, arching into their touch. “Oberyn…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ssh, we got you, my darling boy.” His hand retreats, leaving room for Ellaria to press closer, and when it returns it presses between his cheeks, slick and gentle. Jaskier pulls up his leg, makes room for the man, and first one, then two fingers press into him carefully. “There you go, dandelion, is that better?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bard can’t think. How can Oberyn expect him to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>able </span>
  </em>
  <span>to think, to formulate an answer, when Ellaria is stroking a gentle hand through his hair and kissing him so sweetly, when Oberyn himself fucks him on his fingers as though he has all the time in the world? All Jaskier can do is feel, let himself be bent into the shape they want him in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Oberyn finally pushes his cock into him, Jaskier is almost crying with need. Ellaria is whispering softly to him, sweet words both in the common tongue and in what he can only assume is Dornish, and he clings to her, his face buried in her slender neck as he pants into her skin, already desperate. It’s all too much. He’s not used to being on the receiving end of so much gentle affection, because that’s what it is. It’s not just sex, he realises, and it scares him half to death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind him, Oberyn presses open-mouthed kisses against his neck, his shoulders, panting softly as he fucks him, so slow and deep it makes Jaskier’s toes curl. Praise falls from his lips almost unceasingly, sweet words about everything that Jaskier is, about his pretty face, his angelic voice, his divine heat, his kindness and cleverness, and Jaskier trembles. He gasps, a warning and a plea both, and Ellaria’s hand wraps around his shaft, strokes him, and Jaskier falls apart with a cry. Oberyn slows his thrusts, pulls him close against his chest. “Do you want to stop, my flower?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, he doesn’t. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> wants to stop, he wants to stay right here, between these amazing people, and let himself be held and driven over the edge time and time again. He wants… He wants to feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because that’s what they make him feel, and Jaskier bursts into tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gods, he’s so pathetic, he thinks as the two of them immediately start fussing over him. Oberyn slips out of him, turning Jaskier to face him, and the bard buries his face against Oberyn’s chest, arms wound tightly around him, sobbing helplessly. Ellaria strokes his hair, so careful and gentle that it only makes him cry harder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong, Jaskier? Did I… hurt you?” There’s genuine fear in the prince’s voice at the idea, and Jaskier shakes his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m just…” He hiccups, pressing closer. “I’m just an idiot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, sweet boy, you’re not,” Ellaria coos behind him, moving closer. They’re holding him between them, safe and reassuring, hands so kind as they pet him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am,” he breathes, “if I wasn’t I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t feel this way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oberyn’s hand stills between his shoulder blades. “Feel what way, my darling?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like I want to believe you when you say these things to me. Like this means anything beyond having a good time.” He can’t look at either of them, and he takes a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry, just… forget it. You can keep going, and then I’ll…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oberyn moves, away from him so he can look him in the eyes, and Jaskier quails. The prince looks both shocked and angry. “Jaskier, what are you saying?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I…” He wants to look away, wants to escape that dark gaze but he can’t. “I know this is just… just sex, but it doesn't feel like it. Not to me." He chuckles wetly. "I always do this," he murmurs, "I don't- I forget to guard myself, my heart, and then it ends in tears." Or with him trailing after a certain Witcher for years, but that's neither here nor there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The prince stares at him, mouth working soundlessly for a moment, before he hisses something in Dornish as he pulls him close. He presses kisses to Jaskier's forehead, his cheeks and lips, and behind him Ellaria exhales shakily, her breath fanning over his shoulder. Finally, Oberyn draws back, and Jaskier feels a pang when he sees those dark eyes glisten with tears. "I hadn't dared to even imagine it, my sunflower. I thought we were… Thought that </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> was merely a distraction."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier's breath catches in his throat. "I don't understand."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We'd take you with us," Ellaria murmurs against his shoulder, so softly, and Jaskier can't breathe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"W-what?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oberyn leans closer again, pressing his forehead against Jaskier's. "If you wanted, we'd take you with us. To Dorne."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"B-but- You've known me </span>
  <em>
    <span>two days</span>
  </em>
  <span>! Why would you-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The prince chuckles. "Because I always do this," he says quietly, "I forget to guard my heart."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier's own heart is beating in his throat. He doesn't know what to say. Behind him, Ellaria peppers kisses along his shoulder. "There is no rush, Jaskier. We'll be here at least a month."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And we'd understand if you say no," Oberyn adds. He cups Jaskier's cheek, kisses him softly. "But I can't let you think that you, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> doesn't mean anything."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn't know what to say. Surely this is some sort of sick joke, let us see how far we can string the stupid bard along until he breaks, but even as he thinks it he knows it's not true. "Don't play with me," he begs, "please don't, I couldn't- I don't know how I'd survive that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We're not playing, Jaskier." Oberyn strokes his thumb along the line of Jaskier's cheekbone, eyes so sincere, and Jaskier lets himself believe, at least for the moment. He nods, just a small acknowledgement, and Oberyn smiles softly. "Come here," he breathes, and Jaskier allows him to pull him into another kiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stay like that for the longest time, trading gentle kisses and soft touches, and Jaskier forbids himself from thinking about it. If he does, he'll fall apart all over again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally he feels the fresh rush of lust, of desire, and he slips between Oberyn's legs to mouth at his cock. He brings the prince back to full hardness with hands and mouth, one of Oberyn's hands in his hair, and when he looks up, both of them are watching him. Oberyn's free hand is between Ellaria's legs, stroking her gently, and Jaskier moans around the cock in his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They end up like this: Jaskier riding Oberyn's cock as Ellaria rides his face, and it's the most wonderfully debauched experience he has had in a good while. Ellaria pulls him into a heated kiss, her arms thrown around his neck, and Jaskier delights in the way the prince moans into her flesh every time Jaskier tightens around his cock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ellaria comes first, her fingernails digging into Jaskier's shoulders as she shakes in his arms, her breath coming in hot little puffs against his throat. She falls to the side when she's done, panting harshly, and she nudges Oberyn with her knee. "Go on, my love, make your little bard sing."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oberyn pulls him down by the neck, kissing him hungrily, and Jaskier moans at the taste of Ellaria on Oberyn's lips. The prince rolls them over, spreading Jaskier wide and fucks him with deep, hard thrusts that have Jaskier's toes curling. He comes with a cry, his legs wound tightly around Oberyn, and the prince follows soon after, staring down at Jaskier so intently it makes him ache with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They fall into a sated, sticky heap, and soon Jaskier is asleep, cradled against Oberyn's side. Maybe, he thinks, sleep will bring a solution for this conundrum he's finding himself in.</span>
</p><p>He's not very hopeful, but one never knows.</p>
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